There were five kisses that Anders always found himself remembering; usually late at night as he curled up in whatever he deemed his shelter for the night.
The first one is their first, and what lead to these lonely, sleepless nights. Sloppy, angry, and filled with the taste of wine, he had been too stunned to react when Fenris first kissed him, only acting when the elf started to pull away.
The second is their first slow kiss, mapping and exploring rather than plundering. The stars had been bright that night, reflecting off the waters of the Wounded Coast with the moon full in the sky.
The third to come to mind happened after Anders had been caught by slavers after a long day at the clinic, his drained state offering no chance to dodge the club to his skull. The kiss had been hard, scared, and the broody elf he had begun to call his had demanded that the mage would move in with him, where he could be better protected as soon as it was over.
The fourth happened after Anders blew the Chantry back to the Maker and explained that he would not blame Fenris for leaving him for it. The elf had growled before yanking him to his feet and into a kiss that was somehow hard and gentle simultaneously, the promise that he wouldn't let Anders be alone again ghosting over his lips as it was whispered.
The fifth is their last, Anders begging for his elf to stay, to keep his promise in between kisses as with each one he tried to force air into water-filled lungs.